


the house that built me

by kissteethstainred



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: ???????? why, Gallagher House, HAPPY BIRTHDAY EILEEN!!!!, I'm Having Carl Feelings Again, Other, Tumblr Prompt, Why am i emotional about carl gallagher TWENTY-FOUR SEVEN??????????????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissteethstainred/pseuds/kissteethstainred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was only one place that had ever truly felt like home to Carl, that had ever been comforting and relaxing and someplace he’d loved to be, and that was his childhood house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the house that built me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peeves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peeves/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY EILEEN! A long time ago I made [this post](http://montygreening.tumblr.com/post/114004350901/heya-i-love-all-your-headcannons-and-i-was) with one of the Carl headcanons being: "carl loves his house. when he gets older, he wants to buy it!" and eileen messaged me on tumblr and said "oh my god can you write this for me" aaaand here it is!! I kind of went into Gallagher family feelings and all that stuff. SO ANYWAYS, happy birthday to the wonderful and beautiful [eileen](http://peeves.tumblr.com/)! i hope your bday is as amazing as you are :)))
> 
> come talk to me on [tumblrrrrrrr](http://montygreening.tumblr.com/)
> 
> totally unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own. comments y kudos y etc. are greatly appreciated!!

Carl stared at his house in shock. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it looked relatively the same. The color was different than when the Gallaghers had been there, and the grass outside on the lawn wasn’t as dead—it was greener, probably well cared for. At the moment, there was a “For Sale” sign sticking out of it.

Carl stared at the front door with the slight feeling of trepidation, although he didn’t know what for. It was weird to see his old house again after more than fifteen years, and he wasn’t sure what his siblings would think of him being here.

Lip had already bought a pretty big sized house—multiple bedrooms, baths, and large enough to have a basement that doubled as his tinkering area and a pool outback. He’d told them later that he’d bought a big house in case any of them needed a place to stay or they all needed a house to meet up at for Thanksgiving or birthdays. As one of the top engineers at a (multi-million) company, Lip made fucking bank. He didn’t spend on anything too extravagant—some Southside rules were still lodged in him, it seemed, some semblance of a squirrel fund present in the back of his mind, because he was a firm believer in saving money just in case anything happened.

Fiona hadn’t bought a house. “It’s far too expensive to own a house anymore,” she’d said at one of their family dinners at Lip’s place, as they sat around and drank together. “Besides, after years of spending money to keep us together in that old house? I’d much prefer an apartment.” Which was what she bought, a pretty good sized apartment that she shared with her girlfriend Angela. Sometimes Carl and Debbie would visit them for dinner, and Carl liked how much more stable it was for Fiona. With Angela, the new apartment, and everyone in her family finding their way, she finally seemed happy.

Ian bought a house. Actually, he’d gone back and forth between buying a house and an apartment before he finally settled on a house. Fiona and Lip had both given their advice—the cost, the space, the responsibility—but what finally convinced him was the stability. He’d told Carl that he liked that responsibility of owning his own house (especially one with Mickey’s name on it too) and he liked the security of having a stable, settled home. He and Mickey had bought one relatively close to Lip, although not as expensive, and one that was near a park so that Ian could go running.

Liam was still in college and stayed on an apartment on campus, but he complained about their living situations a lot because “I hate having to choose between siblings, it always makes me look like I’m playing favorites!” He mostly stayed with Lip, Debbie, or Carl. “Trust me, you do not want to be in the same house as Fiona and Angela or Ian and Mickey,” he told Debbie and Carl. “I mean—earplugs. I had to buy fucking _earplugs_.”

Debbie and Carl had shared an apartment together—after coming out of college, it just seemed better for the both of them to move in together—and while that had worked out for a while, with Debbie and Carl’s desires, they agreed that they should move out. Debbie still bought an apartment—she loved the autonomy, she liked the independence of owning her apartment. “Especially something that I don’t have to share with a million siblings,” Debbie had commented one night when she and Carl had laid among the packed boxes, drinking beer and talking. “I mean, no offense—”

“None taken,” Carl said, because he was pretty sure he would always be the exception to Debbie’s cases.

“But god, having that kind of independence is amazing! You are all so close anyways, it’s not like we suddenly won’t see each other anymore,” Debbie commented.

So Carl had to move out, and all of his siblings were giving him recommendations. “Find somewhere comfortable,” Debbie had suggested. “Somewhere relaxing,” Fiona said. _Somewhere you love_ , Ian had said, _somewhere that feels like home_ , Liam suggested, and then Lip, always the pragmatist, _somewhere you can afford_.

Ignoring Lip’s comment, there was only one place that had ever truly felt like home to Carl, that had ever been comforting and relaxing and someplace he’d loved to be, and that was his childhood house. He had such fond memories of the Gallagher house, of all the Gallaghers together in one place, and that’s where he found himself that morning, staring at his old home from outside. He almost couldn’t believe that it was on sale—it was like destiny or something calling him.

The front door was open, and Carl could hear some people inside talking. He hesitated—he wasn’t really sure if he wanted to go inside—but then thought _fuck it_ , and he headed up the steps.

There was a table right by the front door with a little slip explaining the house in detail— _this beautiful home is x square feet and has been wonderfully remodeled, featuring four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a large kitchen, dining, and living room areas_ —and Carl prepared himself for the worst.

It wasn’t actually that bad, he thought as he walked into the living room. There was a family already walking through the living room, examining the doorway leading into the kitchen and asking questions to the realtor. The realtor smiled pleasantly at them and continued to show them around the house. Carl just stared at the living room in surprise. All the furniture was different, one long couch in the shape of an L, a coffee table made out of glass that looked pretty expensive— _It would be broken in two days if we still lived here_ , Carl thought—and a bigger flat screen on a TV stand. He stared around the living room, imagining all the Gallaghers squished onto the couches together, couches and chairs stained from food, beer, and cigarettes, and eagerly watching stupid reality shows. He thought of sitting on the floor while Fiona combed through his hair or playing video games with Debbie and smiled.

“Hello!” a voice said next to him. Carl turned, almost scared, and then smiled politely when the realtor was standing next to him. “Do you have any questions? Do you want me to give you a tour?”

“No,” Carl said, glancing around the strange, new living room. “I know my way around here pretty well.”

Everything was more modern, Carl saw, but he guessed that was the perks of having the neighborhood gentrified—things were more expensive. Things were also bare as fuck. No pictures of the Gallagher kids hanging up on the walls or over the fireplace, no random objects on the shelves or strewn on the floor. The curtains on the windows had been replaced with some cleaner ones, the glass in the windows must have been replaced, and even the paint job inside the house had been redone.

Carl walked through the kitchen next, smiling at the new fridge and appliances. He startled when a little kid’s voice shrieked and echoed down from the laundry chute, and he could hear the parents reprimanding him upstairs. Everything seemed to rush back to him in a haze, as if his presence unlocked all these secret memories—the smell of pancakes and eggs baking in the kitchen as Fiona screeched for the kids to get ready to school, the clambering voices of his siblings and Ian, Lip, and Debbie all hollered over each other, the loud noises of pots and pans and chairs scraping and Frank yelling. Fond memories, he thought now. And not much different than how they are now when they get together at Lip’s place. Maybe a bit louder with Liam contributing, maybe the arguments had less to do with how much money they needed to pay or how they were doing in school, but very similar.

Carl noticed that the walls where Frank, Debbie, and him had attempted to break through were fixed, that any holes were covered up. When he walked up the stairs, there weren’t any nails sticking out or creaky boards.

Walking upstairs was really surreal. He looked into the bathroom first, unsurprised to find that everything was changed, and then had to prepare himself before going into his old room.

They’d made it up so that it looked like one bedroom. Carl was almost surprised at the size of it, but he really shouldn’t have considering that they’d managed to fit three beds in there. The room had the bed where Liam’s bed—and Carl’s old bed—had been. They also had in a desk, a cabinet or two for clothes, and then a TV hung up on the wall. The memories came back again, whispers of Ian and Lip, talking about girls and school until late nights. Sometimes Carl would listen to them talk, thinking about his own future, and sometimes he would pull the earphones on and silence out whatever they were saying. He remembered when Liam had moved in and the complaining all the boys had done. Fuck, Carl knew it was all those years ago, but fuck, it felt like he could turn back time as easily as breathing. It felt like he was dreaming of the future he had now, where all of his siblings were happy, successful, and out of the Southside.

Like something ten year old Carl Gallagher would dream of while his older brothers talked about blowjobs. Carl couldn’t believe it was actually real.

“Are you okay, sir?” the realtor’s voice asked next to him, and Carl startled.

He realized he had been crying. He hastily wiped at his face and said, “I’m fine.” The lady kept looking at him, worried, so Carl admitted, “I used to live here.”

The lady broke out into a smile. She was very pretty, he realized, blonde hair and blue eyes. Almost familiar. “That’s wonderful! Is it different?”

“Very,” Carl said with a small laugh. It almost sounded like he was choking.

“I have always loved this house,” the woman admitted.

Carl looked at her. “Have you been here before?”

“I came here once when I was a little girl,” she said. “I’ve always kept the memory of being here because it was so good. When the last people came to me for selling it, I was excited about it.” She gazed around the room with a wistful smile on her face, and something was knocking at Carl’s brain—he could see it, something in her smile was familiar—and then she turned back to Carl. “Are you just visiting it again, or are you actually considering . . . ?”

“No,” Carl said. He could feel the weight of finality on his shoulders, something in the pit of his stomach telling him that he knew this was the right decision. “I want to buy it.”

“Oh?” She smiled. “There’s a lot of competition.”

“I’ll outpay everyone,” he blurted out, looking around the room again. He wanted the house back so badly it felt fierce, like an actual living being inside of him. “I’m serious. This house . . .” He trailed off. He didn’t think he could describe it.

The woman smiled at him again. “Alright, then. I’ll talk to whoever had the highest offer and keep in touch with you.”

“Alright,” Carl said. She reached into her pocket and handed him her card, and he had hardly glanced at it before saying, “Holy fuck.” The women looked at him in surprise. He stared at her and—yes, no wonder she seemed familiar—he could see it. He wondered why he hadn’t before. “ _Bonnie_?”

She gave him a bewildered look. “Yes, that’s my name.”

“Yeah it’s—I fucking know. It’s Carl. Carl Gallagher.”

“ _Oh_.” Bonnie looked away, fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve. Carl stared at her and then coughed. He could see the barest hint of a flush on her neck. “That makes more sense, then,” Bonnie said suddenly.

“Yeah.” He glanced around the room one more time, before saying. “I guess—we’ll keep in touch?” She gave him a confused look. “About the house.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I should really get back to people downstairs.” She gave him a small smile and then walked out of the room. He suddenly wished he could call her back and ask her questions, but then decided against it.

He heard her talking to people downstairs as he walked through the hallway, glancing into Lip, Fiona, and Debbie’s old bedroom. Something about Debbie’s room made him even more nostalgic, so he took out his phone and called her.

Debbie answered the phone with “What’s up?”

“I think I know what house I’m gonna get,” Carl said.

“Well, that was fucking quick,” Debbie said with a laugh. “Where is it?”

“Uh, 2119 North Wallace,” Carl said. He could actually hear Debbie stop whatever she was doing, and she was quiet down the line. “Debbie?”

“You’re joking. You have to be joking.”

“No, not really.”

“You want to buy that old dump?”

“Not an old dump anymore. Seriously, you should see the neighborhood.”

“Ah, so gentrification strikes again.” Debbie sighed. “If that’s true, can you afford it?”

“Yes, I can afford it,” Carl said, rolling his eyes. He walked down the stairs and nodded at Bonnie, who was explaining something to another family downstairs.

“I mean—wow. Wow, Carl. You’re absolutely sure?”

“Yes, Debbie, god.” He walked out onto the porch and then back into the front lawn. He stopped when he got to the sidewalk and looked back at the house. He could almost see his ten year old self looking out of his old bedroom, smiling. “It’s going to be amazing.” 

**Author's Note:**

> title is in reference to [The House That Built Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQYNM6SjD_o) by Miranda Lambert and just oh god i had so many carl feelings:
> 
> I know they say you cant go home again.   
> I just had to come back one last time.   
> Ma'am I know you don't know me from Adam.   
> But these handprints on the front steps are mine. 
> 
> I thought if I could touch this place or feel it   
> this brokenness inside me might start healing.   
> Out here its like I'm someone else,   
> I thought that maybe I could find myself   
> if I could just come in I swear I'll leave.   
> Won't take nothing but a memory   
> from the house that built me.


End file.
